


The Whole World Would Kick the Beam

by kittenmittens



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, And becomes his momma, Animal Traits, Animalistic, Animalistic AU, Bucky is a baby and Steve finds him, Everyone is a little bit beasty, Gen, Kitty Buck, M/M, Male Lactation, The serum kind of fucks Steve up, male breasts, not a/b/o, puppy steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmittens/pseuds/kittenmittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh my God," he whispers, glancing down at the front of the box stupidly. In sloppy writing, with the ink bled out almost to the point of making it illegible, is one single word:</p><p>   <i>"Free." </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve has never thought of himself as superstitious, but there is something about getting caught in the rain that seems... _significant._ Not that he can really appreciate that, with the fur of his tail being drenched, and the lining of his boots are currently turning to mush. Sure, they were already pretty worn out, but up until they started disintegrating, Steve hadn't minded. Even if they were making the walk home hard to bear, "never waste anything" was still a life lesson he was determined to make good use of. So he doesn't regret wearing them up to this point, or, at least, that's what he's going to keep telling himself.

Sighing, he hikes up his jacket and tented it above his head, trying to use it like a weird, makeshift umbrella as he turns to cut through an alleyway. Granted, he doesn't have all too many fond memories of places like this, and he'd be willing to bet most of the times he'd been in an alley, he'd had somebody holding his arms behind his back while said fella's buddy started punching him in the stomach. But that hadn't happened in over a lifetime ago. Besides, this is a good neighborhood, and even if it wasn't (and, hopefully he wasn't tempting fate here), he's _Captain America._ It takes more than a dark gap between two buildings to scare him.

Shuddering as he steps into a particularly deep puddle, he pauses, then lifts his sopping wet foot up to give it a shake. No use―it's drenched. It lets out a weird _squelch_ sound when he steps on it, and it feels like a grimy old sponge beneath his foot. After debating whether or not it'd be worth it to go home with just one shoe, he decides to bear with it, trotting forward until, before he even knows why he's stopping, he freezes, ears swiveling around to pick up a tiny, feeble sound.

"Uh." Steve frowns, furrowing his brow as he tries to work out whether or not he's actually talking to anyone. But he can't see another soul. Just old boxes and a couple dumpsters towards the end of the alley. Shrugging weakly, he makes a move to keep walking, then pauses a second time when he hears that same miserable noise. "Hello?"

There's a tiny bit of rustling among the boxes, so Steve holds his breath and inches over, finally crouching in front of―

 _Oh_.

He watches, eyebrows slowly raising as the top folds of the nearest box peel back just enough for a sliver of brown to peek through, along with a long, drawn out mewl. Swallowing, Steve kneels in front of the box, folding back the opening and then flat out gawking.

It's a kid.

Hell, not even a kid. Basically a _baby_. Barely old enough to toddle, soaking wet, and completely naked.

"Oh my God," he whispers, glancing down at the front of the box stupidly. In sloppy writing, with the ink bled out almost to the point of making it illegible, is one single word:

_"Free."_

"Wh-Who would.... " Steve shakes his head dizzily. This seems like a weird, terrible joke. Something off-color he'd hear at a party and grimace at. It shouldn't have been a reality, much less one he'd stumble onto, but he's suddenly very relieved he did. "U-Uh. It's okay!" He watches the kitten shudder violently and acts almost without thinking, grabbing him carefully and pulling him up against his chest. Ears going back a little, he mumbles reassuringly, he cradles the kid a little, looking down and wincing just the tiniest fraction when he realizes one of his arms ends above the elbow in a pitiful stump. "You're okay."

Slowly, carefully, he pulls his jacket back down over his shoulders, then zips it with painstaking slowness, keeping the kitten bundled up inside. He studies him faintly, heart pounding in some weird mix of fear and relief, with a little bit of "horrified and upset" thrown in there, too. The little guy squeaks again, shivering violently, and Steve's brain manages to switch back on.

"A-All right. We're gonna go home first, okay?" Well, not permanently. Steve's got to take this kid to an adoption agency or some place that can help him, but for now, Steve's house is just a minute away, and judging by how much the kitten is shivering, Steve thinks he might appreciate getting to warm up for a little while first. To his credit, the little guy doesn't seem to mind at all that he's stuffed down Steve's shirt. In fact, about halfway between entering the lobby of his building and clambering up the first two flights of stairs, Steve hears the beginnings of the saddest, raspiest little purr he's ever been treated to.

He has to admit, as dizzy and adrenaline-fueled as he is―almost to the extent where most of what's happening isn't sinking in―he does manage to appreciate that. And find it indisputably _adorable_. Wagging his tail sluggishly, he's able to get his door open on the third or fourth try, shutting it behind him and dropping the key-chain on the front dresser. Once he feels like he can finally catch his breath, he leans with his back against the door, very slowly unzipping his jacket and observing the kitten closely.

As soon as the jacket's pulled open, the kid gives another violent shudder, squinting up at Steve with pale gray eyes. His brown hair's either wavy, or a complete rat's nest, or both, and Steve's not sure if it's an accident, or just how he is, but his tiny ears are curved forward and pressed flat against his head. As if trying to remind Steve that it's rude to stare, the kitten squints his eyes and lets out the loudest squeak yet, and after that, Steve just has to chuckle.

"Okay. I know." He very gingerly pats the kid's head, marveling at how docile he's being. He probably won't be for long, though―Steve feels like he'd better clean the kid up, and he knows how cats feel about baths. Walking slowly into the kitchen, he sets the little guy on the counter, plugging the sink and filling it up with warm water. He sticks his finger in the water, trying to make sure it's not too hot, but also not so lukewarm that it'll end up making the poor kitten colder. Finally, when it's all filled up, he tucks his hands gingerly under the kid's arms, lifting him up before very gently setting him down in the water. To his surprise, the little guy barely fights, just giving a couple very sad, very sluggish squirms before going still. He sniffles, leaning into Steve's palm as he starts to lather soap onto him, only making one loud, unhappy noise when Steve starts to work the knots out of his hair.

He does try to make it quick, though, and before long he's got the kid bundled up in a towel that's far too big and fluffy for someone so tiny. Figuring he must be hungry, Steve raids his fridge, offering the kid a can of tuna he had for some reason, some applesauce, and even a little cup of milk, but he turns down everything. In the end, Steve settles for just holding him in his little, fluffy towel-burrito. The kitten doesn't seem to mind, though; Steve sits at his computer with the little guy propped up on his chest, purring steadily and pressing his one tiny paw against his collarbone. After an hour or so of looking for guidance, Steve finds out that there are quite a few options for this situation, but he doesn't want to make such a monumental decision too quickly. Besides, heading right back into the rain with the kid, without letting him getting any rest first...

Well, it just doesn't seem like a good idea.

After the kid is mostly dry, Steve helps him into one of his shirts. It's absolutely massive on the little guy, and it looks like he's wearing that ridiculous "snuggie" thing he saw on TV a year or two ago, but it'll have to do. Mysteriously, just like with the bath, and being suffocated in his jacket, the kitten doesn't seem to mind too much. On the other hand, Steve thinks he might be going crazy, because the sleepy, docile, clumsy movements the kid makes when Steve is trying to get him into the shirt... It just sort of makes Steve feel like his heart might burst, but in an undeniably _good_ way.

After that, Steve doesn't want to move him off his bed. He tried to put him on the couch, but he made such a heartbreaking noise, Steve decided not to make him sleep alone. And it's just for one night, and then Steve will get this all sorted out. Smiling, he lets his tail wag faintly as he thinks, maybe, just maybe, whoever adopts this little fella―and he's positive a kid this irresistible will be snatched up pretty quick―is gonna let Steve come see him every once in a while. Smiling drowsily at that idea, Steve clambers onto the bed, curling up around the little guy and yanking the covers over both of them. Blinking tiredly, he pauses to make sure the kid isn't shivering anymore, and that he's all the way dry before finally letting himself close his eyes.

A few hours later, he's coming to, or at least waking up part way. His chest is really bothering him, and he can't seem to work out why. He didn't fall off any buildings or take any beatings lately, so it seems strange that something's stinging this badly. Plus, there's another level to it. The pain doesn't feel like he slept on it wrong, or like he bruised it without thinking. It's a deeper feeling, under the skin. Sort of a shooting, heavy burn. The pain isn't unbearable, sure, but it's weird, and it's just enough to keep him awake.

Groaning, he turns gradually onto his side, then starts a little when he feels something move under the sheets with him. It takes a second, but after a moment or two of panicked bewilderment, he remembers what happened earlier. After that, even being half brain-dead from tiredness, he's surprised he managed to forget that craziness. Mumbling wordlessly, he gingerly pulls the kitten up against his stomach, sighing in faint annoyance when he feels the kid start to crawl up under his shirt. Steve can't be too upset, though. Not even when the wriggles like crazy, apparently trying as hard as he can to get comfortable. After all the little guy's been through, Steve isn't surprised he wants to be as warm and bundled up as possible.

Yep. Steve will let him sleep however he wants for tonight, and tomorrow, after a nice, big breakfast, Steve's gonna take him downtown to the―

His brain almost seems to stop working right in the middle of that sentence. There's this unmistakable, absolutely unexpected sensation of being bitten in a very sensitive, very peculiar place. And the thing is, it would be a perfectly normal occurrence, if Steve were a woman, and also this kitten's mother, but since that's not the case, it's simply _wrong_.

"Ow! OW! Buddy!" Steve swallows, jerkily scooting back until he's sort of upright, one arm starting to flail around as he frantically tries to find the light switch. Once he hits it, he gingerly rolls his shirt up, heart pounding from a strange rush of adrenaline. Well, he guesses he _is_ sort of being attacked. Just... not in a threatening way, or in a way he thought would happen in a million years. He gingerly grabs at the kid, pulling him away with a small hiss of pain. "Stop that! That.... It doesn't work that way! There's no.... "

He pauses, watching the kitten start to squirm and cry blankly. Blinking dimly, he wonders why his chest feels so damp from what can only be sweat and a small amount of drool, then looks down.

And stares.

He stares a lot. In horror, in disbelief, in... some sort of emotion strong and overwhelming enough for him to immediately start hoping this is a dream. Because, no matter how ridiculous or impossible it ought to be, Steve's not sure he can deny it when it's right in front of his eyes.

He's _leaking._

It's like he's frozen for a good minute or so. Head turned down, staring stupidly at his chest, feeling the kitten thrash weakly in his arms, all while he gawks at the sight of liquid dribbling out of his pecs. Swallowing, he finally moves, setting the kid very carefully down on his lap and, hand shaking slightly―a part of him is definitely ashamed for feeling so horrified he's trembling―as he thumbs awkwardly at the pale beads.

There's only one thing this could be. Really, nothing else... _comes out_ of there. It's just, that's only supposed to happen to women. He cringes as the kitten lets out another lengthy mewl, padding on all fours up to him.

"N-No," Steve mumbles.

The kid makes another raspy noise, clumsily straightening up, using Steve's abdomen to prop himself up.

"Buddy, _don't_." He swallows, wondering why he's acting like he's cornered at gunpoint. The kitten's basically a baby; Steve could pick him up, take him straight to the shelter, or at least somewhere that would have formula, and take care of this easily. But for some reason, Steve finds himself unable to push the kid away. Maybe because he's not sure this isn't a dream, or getting the hunch that doing so would mean non-stop screaming and crying. Either way, he can't quite get himself to reject the little guy.

He regrets it _immediately_.

The strangest sensation he's ever felt follows when the kitten latches onto him with his tiny mouth. Steve shudders, jerkily cupping the kid's stomach and starting to pull him away, but then―

"OW!" He squeaks, recoiling as much as he can with a tiny body leeching off him. Boggling at the kid, he mumbles distantly, "You _bit_ me... "

The only thing he gets in response to that is another raspy purr. Steve hates to admit it, but he thinks he's relatively cornered. His pride is crying out for help in a ditch somewhere the longer he lets this happen, but those teeth are unnervingly sharp, and Steve's not sure what'd be worse: explaining all this to a doctor, or explaining all this to a doctor while missing one of his nipples. In the end, he goes still, admittedly hating his decision just a little as the bizarre, unpleasant feeling of getting sucked on overtakes most of his thoughts. Then the kitten adds his little hand to the process, kneading weakly at Steve's chest, and Steve has to shudder in earnest.

It feels like it takes forever, but the kid does, eventually, let go. Sighing in relief, Steve mops at his chest with the sheets, wincing at how tender everything suddenly feels. Shaking his head (and still praying for this to turn out to be some awkward fever dream), Steve starts yanking the covers back up. Apparently full of renewed energy, the kitten hops and pounces over the blankets, stubby tail sticking straight up in the air.

"Oh, come on... " Steve shakes his head, collapsing against his pillow and fumbling for the light. "Stop... jumping and... " Jeeze, what's another word? As if that really matters in the scheme of what just happened. Well, maybe Steve's just clinging to some sense of normalcy while he still can. "Bucking around." He yawns, managing to grab the kitten around his now much fuller stomach and pulling him close. "You're a cat, not a horse."

That earns him another purr, and Steve feels like he's just suffered yet another defeat. He lets the little thing curl up against his chest. "Well," he mumbles, "Good night, you little Bucker." Ugh, wait. No. That sounds too close to a certain word Steve doesn't really believe in saying. "Buck... y?" That's... better? Kind of nice, actually.

The kid must agree, because the purring gets twice as loud as soon as Steve says it.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve feels like he slept way too deeply. Way too much like a _rock_. It reminds him of when he used to have his sinuses completely blocked up in the morning, and he’d have an uncomfortable, tender sensation throbbing under his forehead for the rest of the day. By all logic, he shouldn't enjoy waking up like this, but somehow, he does. It helps that there’s a warm body next to him. Even though he’s sluggish and barely with it, his brain puts two and two together pretty fast. Right. The kitten. “Bucky.”

Blinking, Steve raises his head a tiny bit, staring down at the small lump under the covers. When he places his hand lightly on... Well, most of the little guy’s body, he can feel the strong vibrations of Bucky purring. Steve has to smile about that. Has he been purring all night? That’s a pretty high compliment.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling the covers back. Bucky, who’s curled up in as tight a ball as he can manage, peels one eye open, glaring at Steve from over the tip of his tail. “Don’t give me that look! It’s time to get up.”

Bucky closes his eye in response. Steve snorts. But after a minute, he frowns. What’s he gonna do about this? About _him?_ He’s heard horror stories about orphanages, and foster homes, and adoption agencies… Bucky would probably be well taken care of—at least, Steve hopes that would be true—but who knows how many homes he’d be passed through before he finally found a permanent place to stay? A family? That’s assuming he’d get adopted at all. Steve hates to be pessimistic, but he knows these are the thoughts that are going to plague him if… or _when_ … he ends up dropping the kid off.

Bucky whines, and Steve’s chest gives this odd twinge almost immediately, like his body’s automatically responding to the noises the kitten makes. Groaning, Steve lets his head loll back miserably. Oh, yeah. That. His… weird reaction. He _did_ forget about that part. But maybe he dreamed it all up? Okay, sure, the fact that his chest started burning a few seconds ago seems to imply it really did happen, but Steve’s trying to preserve a bit of his sanity here. Swallowing nervously, he tugs out the collar of his shirt, peering down at himself. He winces. It’s not super noticeable, but his chest seems… swollen. It’s oddly shaped, like he put on a few pounds, but it’s only showing around his pecs. And then there’s his, uh… _nipples._ They look soft and almost girlish, and when he reluctantly pokes himself there, it stings.

“Sss…” He hisses between his teeth, and Bucky’s head pops up. Suddenly, it looks like he’s wide awake. “What?” Steve grimaces, but it’s admittedly hard to feel horrified when he’s watching the little guy stare up at him with those massive blue eyes. “Do you mind? You already invaded my bed. I think I’ve earned just a _little_ privacy.”

Bucky opens his mouth and squeaks, ears going back, eyes squinting… Like the noise he’s making is so loud, he’s got to find room to open his mouth as wide as possible.

“What?” Okay, now he’s flat out grinning. “What do you want?”

Bucky toddles over to him on all fours (er, _threes)_ , purring so loud Steve can hear it without even bending closer to him. He clambers onto Steve’s lap, then reaches his skinny arm out, planting his hand on top of Steve’s tender chest and letting out a second long, whiny squeak.

“Oh.” Steve blinks, then shakes his head. “Uh, no. No, that’s… not gonna happen.” Once was a weird enough fluke as is. Steve needs to get to a (hopefully very private, very knowledgeable) doctor and get this sorted out. He’s sure this whole fiasco has something to do with him, or something magical or _alien_ he got into during a mission with the rest of the team, and nothing to do with the kitten. But that doesn’t mean Steve wants the little guy to make things any worse. “Look.” He loops an arm under the kitten’s tiny rear, sliding his legs off the mattress and getting up. “We’ll get you some formula, and I’ll make myself some breakfast, and then we’ll just, uh…” He swallows. “Make it up as we go.”

Bucky lets out another noise of complaint, nuzzling into Steve’s chest. Actually, he’s rubbing his cheeks against it demandingly, like he’s marking his territory. It’s only been one night, but Steve’s got the very bad feeling this is gonna be a hard habit to break. Clumsily, he grabs his phone off the nightstand and starts googling things young kittens can eat, even though doing that gives him a bit of déjà vu. There’s gotta be something in the apartment, right? Something the kid isn’t going to puke back up. Obviously, most of the websites suggest formula, but Steve finds a few that imply the little guy might be able to stomach some cream. As he walks into the kitchen, he sets his phone down and works on getting the coffee creamer into a small mug one-handed, still hanging onto Bucky with his other arm. Finally, he holds the cup up to Bucky’s nose, and after a bit of coaxing, gets him to take a couple tiny, reluctant sips.

After which he immediately buries his face in Steve’s chest and whines even louder. Great. Well, Steve understands what he’s thinking. Much as it makes his stomach turn to phrase it like this, why would he want to have some fake stuff when the _real_ stuff is right there in front of him? And no, Steve isn’t real fond of the thought of being used like a soda fountain, but it isn’t like he doesn’t sympathize with Bucky. He’s been through so much, denying him _anything_ seems so unnecessarily cruel. But Steve’s also more than slightly traumatized by his body doing something totally unexpected, completely out of nowhere… And, horrible as it sounds, he’s leaning more towards the option where Bucky still gets fed, and Steve doesn’t have to make things even weirder. 

Setting Bucky down on the counter, he puts the mug next to him, wishing he had one of those sippy cups, or maybe a bottle. It can be hard to tell where some kids are growth-wise , especially since some start crawling and toddling around so early. Steve’s not completely sure Bucky can even hold something without dropping it. He obviously isn’t that old if he’s still drinking… Um. _Milk_.

“Okay, well… ” Steve shrugs, smiling apologetically. “That’s there if you change your mind. I’m gonna make some eggs.”

As he turns on the stove, he realizes it doesn’t seem like a fantastic idea to leave Bucky there. He could flop over and fall right onto one of the burners! So Steve picks him back up again, resting that tiny body lightly against his shoulder before giving him a gentle squeeze. Takes a bit of finagling to get the fridge open, and the eggs out—and even more effort just to crack them—but somehow he manages. Working a wooden spoon free of one of the drawers, he starts shoving the yolk around, doing his best to ignore the way Bucky keeps kneading his little hand against his chest. He’s still purring, and pretty loudly, too, so he can’t be that upset. Steve stays like that for a while, sleepily stirring his eggs as Bucky wriggles sluggishly against him. It’s really nice, and Steve completely zones out for a few minutes before—

“ _Ow!”_ He yelps, dropping his spoon. Wincing, he tries to tug Bucky off his chest. “Stop biting!” 

Bucky makes an annoyed sound, between a growl and another mewl, but holds on tight. Finally, after a lot of prying, and Steve honestly starting to feel scared that there’s a chance Bucky’ll take something important off with him, Steve gets him free. Bucky blinks, like he never expected to be overpowered by somebody ten times his size, then flattens his ears and gives a watery hiccup.

“Oh, no,” Steve mumbles. “No, no. Don’t start—“

He does. Bucky starts crying. He wiggles miserably, whining a couple times before full-on bawling, throwing his head back and screaming, tears just gushing from his face as he carries on like the world is ending. After carrying on for half a minute, he reaches his hands (well, one hand, and one stub) out towards Steve, who winces and holds him at arms’ length. This only seems to aggravate Bucky further, since he starts thrashing along with his crying. Steve can practically imagine what’s going on in Bucky’s head. Stuff like, “Why aren’t you going to feed me? You saw what I’ve been through.” And, “I don’t want to eat any of that gross stuff. I want to eat the _good_ stuff.”

Ugh. Okay, that’s enough of that… narration. But Steve can’t stand that crying! And, apparently, neither can certain other parts of him. His chest gets this bizarre, tugging sensation from deep inside, and all of a sudden, his shirt’s damp in two very specific spots. He feels his face crumple a bit and his tail droops. “Crap.” So much for stimulation being the culprit. Well, this might still count, but Steve just feels like it’s more evidence that there’s something wrong with him, and not Bucky.

Speaking of Bucky, he’s still wailing and wailing, kicking his tiny feet pathetically and giving the most miserable, heart-wrenching hiccups. Steve already told himself he couldn’t stand the sight of that, but he feels like that statement just got even truer. It’s like he’s _killing_ the little guy, and Steve just… He can’t be a part of that! Even if he knows it’s ridiculous, even if he knows Bucky’s just being stubborn, he thinks about how he looked a day ago (has it really only been that long? Feels like forever’s passed since then), damp and shaking in that soaking-wet box, and he just…

Steve’s tough in a lot of ways, sure, but right now? Right now, Steve Rogers is a weak, weak man. He grimaces to himself, peeling his possibly-ruined shirt up and timidly shifting Bucky into the crook of his arm before reluctantly bringing him up to his chest. Bucky sniffs once, giving Steve a watery glare, like he doesn’t quite trust him, and then he latches right on, drinking hungrily. Steve hisses to himself—that definitely stings!—but he doesn’t move Bucky, or try to pull him off. Thankfully, after a few moments pass, Bucky seems to relax, ears going forward, eyes fluttering halfway shut; hell, Steve thinks he sees the little guy’s pupils dilate. Bringing one tiny hand up to rest against Steve’s chest, Bucky curls his stubby fingers lightly against Steve’s skin, and Steve thinks his heart just about jumps free of his ribcage.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, mostly to himself, since it isn’t like Bucky understands. “Guess we’re gonna postpone the adoption business.” It helps that Steve hasn’t fully decided what he wants to do. But besides that. “I’m… pretty sure I’d better see a doctor.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Unfortunately, there may not be much we can do to ease the symptoms,” Dr. Marshall says. “As far as I can tell, this is a result of the serum playing a direct role in… “ She pauses, then trails off again. “Well…”

Steve shrugs weakly, watching Bucky carefully. He’s got the little guy resting on his knee, but he doesn’t like the way Bucky’s eyeing the doctor’s tail every time it gives a thoughtful twitch. “Trust me, doc. Whatever you’re about to say, I’m pretty sure I’ve been desensitized enough to handle it.”

“Have you ever heard of an intersex person, Mr. Rogers?” she asks.

Steve swallows, thinking hard. Nothing comes to mind, though. It’s too bad; every time Steve thinks he’s starting to catch on, some new term comes along and leaves him feeling totally clueless. “Uh… No.”

“Don’t feel bad,” the doctor insists, obviously sensing some of his discomfort. “It’s not very common, and many times, anyone who fits the description is unaware, either because they never showed any signs, or because they were subjected to an operation that removed any evidence when they were still young.” She turns away from her clipboard, and Steve’s not sure if he’s relieved that she’s so matter-of-fact, or slightly intimidated. “Basically, an intersex person is someone who was born with some parts, or almost all, of the opposite gender’s sexual organs. In your case, it seems like you may have, well…” She shrugs. “Ovaries.”

Steve knows it’s kinda stupid, especially since he managed to be fairly calm when Dr. Marshall was essentially groping him, but he actually blushes at that. “Uh. Really?”

“Yes. It’s all strictly internal, and not something the medical exams… back in your day would have caught. Even now, people can go years without knowing their internal organs are different from the average individual’s.” Dr. Marshall eases back down on her chair, resting her clipboard on her lap. Steve can’t help wondering if all the private doctors Tony recommends are this difficult to shock. Actually, Steve thinks that’s a question that more or less answers itself. “That, in combination with your super serum, essentially—and, this is just my best guess, you’ll probably want to get a second opinion—but it basically seems like those female organs may have been kicked into overdrive by the serum, and all that was needed was enough stimulation in order for bodily changes to take place.” She gestures to Bucky when she says “stimulation”, and Steve has to hold back a groan. “Anyway, the best we could offer right now are testosterone treatments, but I’m unsure of how those may affect your body. The best bet may be to hold off and see if the issue resolves itself.”

Steve thinks, a bit too quick for his own liking, that it would probably be easy to resolve this if he found an adoption agency, or a foster home. Just like he originally planned. But thinking that makes him feel genuinely sick to his stomach. It would be great if he could just find a wonderful family who’d adopt Bucky right on the spot, but he knows it’s not that simple anymore, if only because of legality issues. Never mind that Steve’s not really sure how he feels about giving Bucky _up_. He can’t be a parent, he can’t raise a kid, especially not with how out of touch he is. And then there’s the tiny little detail of being a superhuman soldier who’s more or less expected to try to save the world sometimes. What would happen if he adopted Bucky, and then something happened to him?

“Mr. Rogers?”

Steve blinks, realizing he’s been quiet for slightly too long. “Oh! Uh, sorry. That’s…. I’ll do that. Thank you for your help.”

She directs him outside, and Steve leaves in kind of a daze, holding Bucky tight against his baggy hoodie. Seems like it’s just his luck when he almost bumps into Sam Wilson.

“Whoa, hey!” Sam stumbles back, then rights himself, tail giving a small wag when he recognizes Steve. Steve can’t help wagging back, but his smile shrinks when Sam asks, “What are you doing here? Must be one hell of a super-flu to get you into a doctor’s office.”

Steve grins weakly. “I could say the same about you. But… “ He winces, knowing in the back of his head (and he can’t really express how grateful he is for this fact) that Sam won’t push the envelope. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

Sam’s ears prick up and he bends, and Steve remembers a bit too late that Bucky exists. “Who’s the little guy?” He gives Steve a suspicious look. “Thought you didn’t have family near here.” Steve knows he’s withholding another statement like, ‘Or, at all.’

“I know it sounds crazy, but I just kind of…” Steve swallows. “Found him. In a box.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “And you didn’t go to the cops… _why_ , exactly?”

Steve shrugs weakly. “You didn’t see him. He was soaking wet, and freezing… I took him home to figure out what to do, but I guess I got a little… sidetracked.” He sighs sadly. “You’re right, though. Guess that’s what I should do.”

Sam’s silent for a second, then smirks playfully. “Y’know, I get that you’re a bleeding heart kind of guy, but you better not be thinking of taking a kid on all by yourself.” He laughs, ruffling Bucky’s hair before he gives Steve’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I mean… Whatever you do, just don’t get in over your head.”

“I’m not… ” Sam’s way too good at reading people, but Steve knows he should be used to it by now. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

“Worry? About you?” Sam snorts. “Unless it’s a warzone—and it’s not, which means we aren’t counting all the times you’ve gone completely suicidal—you’re basically mothering everybody on the team. I mean, you do the worrying for just about everyone you meet. I know you’re gonna play it safe. Do whatever’s best.”

Steve winces a little, not sure how he feels about the term ‘mothering’ right now. But after a second, he chuckles. “Y’know, I don’t even care if people say this anymore: that was real cheesy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome.” Sam ducks around Steve, but not without bumping into him teasingly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the nurse who called me in five minutes ago looks ready to bite my head off.”

Steve resists the temptation to glance over his shoulder and see for himself, instead tilting his head down as Bucky lets out a massive yawn. “Tired, huh?” The kid’s only response is to blink all slow and lazy. Steve smiles again. “You can nap all you want in a bit. But first, we’re gonna get you some real clothes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry it's been a while, but I think I took like a year long break between chapter one and two, so it could be worse. Hopefully the Steve/Sam isn't TOO sudden in this chapter, but I swear I've been wanting to integrate it from the beginning.

It takes a while to work up the nerve, but Steve finally decides to bite the bullet and call Tony. And, after the other man cracks a few jokes about how Steve’s such a golden boy, he actually offers some advice.

“Look; best thing you can do is get a good lawyer. Obviously, I’ve got that covered. They’ll try to get you temporary adoption rights, and the agency’ll probably want to monitor you and the kid. Y’know, make sure you’re not a sociopath who eats babies.” He pauses, then asks, “You sure about this, Cap?”

Steve looks down at Bucky, who’s curled up inside his coat, fast asleep. “Yeah. Pretty sure.”

Tony pauses for a second, and sighs. “One bit of legal advice: if this all falls apart, you _legally_ can’t say I didn’t try to talk you out of it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Noted.”

Tony hangs up without even saying ‘goodbye’, and Steve frowns, pocketing his phone as he tries to think of where to go next. He definitely needs a few supplies if he’s serious about keeping Bucky, but it’s hard to know where he should go. He feels sort of light-headed after that, and it hits him: he never saw himself getting ready to have a kid any time soon, and now, one almost literally fell into his lap.

“Okay, Rogers.” Steve takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tries to ground himself. “You’ve been through tougher stuff than this.” As soon as he thinks that, though, this timid little voice pipes up in the back of his head, asking if he really has. Sure, he’s dealt with everything from alien invasions to learning how to work an iPhone, but he’s never had a lot of time for kids. Honestly, he’s not sure if he knows how to take care of anything other than himself. He tries to shake it off, telling himself doesn’t matter. No matter how unsure he is of whether or not he’ll be good at taking care of a child, he’s already decided he doesn’t want to let go of Bucky. Hell, he doesn’t think he _can_ at this point.

He wanders around downtown for a while before settling on a department store. It probably looks incredibly suspicious, him walking around with Bucky bundled up inside his coat. At best, people will think he’s shoplifting. At worst, it looks like he stole Bucky himself, which is the last thing he wants. If they’re really going to be investigating him, and making sure he’s capable of childrearing, he’s pretty sure getting pulled aside by store security isn’t going to help with that. Swallowing, he grabs a cart and gingerly transfers Bucky into the little bench inside, wincing when the kitten immediately flops over to one side, the metal bars of the cart digging into his head. Steve tries to straighten him up, but he just keeps falling slowly to one side each time he does it, so eventually Steve shrugs off his coat and wraps it gingerly around the kitten. There. Now he can fall down all he wants—he’s got padding.

Taking off his coat brings up another issue, though: Steve’s chest still looks… odd. He’s got a few layers on, and he’s hoping people won’t notice anything unless they’re really looking, but it still puts him on edge. It might be a good idea to make this shopping trip on the quick side. He pushes the cart towards the baby aisle, then has to pause to take it all in. There’s a lot more stuff here than he remembers. Again, not that he’d have any reason to look when he was a kid, but there’s so much more stuff than he thought there’d be. Tons of bottles, blankets, baby gates—there are these weird diapers that look like underwear, cribs of different sizes, depending on how old your kid is, and even these child safety seats for when you’re driving. After taking a deep breath, Steve decides to get one of everything. He even grabs some formula and a few bottles—hey, he’s allowed to be optimistic! Lastly, after some hesitation, he even heaves a crib into his arms and carefully slides it into the cart, trying not to disturb Buck.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Clothes.” The cart’s a lot heavier with the crib and gate in it, but he does his best to keep the ride smooth for the kid. As soon as he leaves the aisle, he looks around, then heads over to the clothes. Bucky’s still sleeping soundly, so Steve just holds the little shirts and pants up to him until he finds the right size of each—or, at least, ones that look like they’ll fit.

He doesn’t think too much about what he’s picking out—nobody cares whether or not a kid has matching clothes, right? If that mattered, they wouldn’t make all their outfits so brightly colored and covered in patterns—until something folded on a shelf nearby catches his eye. He dumps an armful of shirts and pants into the cart, then shoves it over, staring dumbly at the display picture. It looks like they’re a bunch of onesie pajamas, each one looking like a different mammal.

It’s… _riduclous_. They’re tacky, they’re impractical, and they cost too much. So… why does Steve kind of want one? Just as he’s staring at the pajamas way too hard, Bucky stirs and wakes up, squinting up at Steve with sleepy gray eyes. “Don’t judge me, okay?” he hisses. “They’re cute!” They even have a cat one, and while the ears aren’t floppy, the shade of brown’s pretty close to Bucky’s little mop of hair. Speaking of which, Steve should probably get that cut soon.

Giving an impatient whine, Bucky kicks his little feet and squirms. “ _Maaaa!”_

“I know, I know.” Steve rolls “Don’t worry, we’re almost do— _wait!_ ” Steve groans. “Bucky, come on! I’m not your mom, all right? I’m… “ Maybe a dad? Look: just because his hormones and the serum have gone insane, it doesn’t mean he _gave birth_ to this kid! He’s not a mom! “I found you. And I’m gonna take care of you. That’s all that matters.”

Bucky clearly doesn’t appreciate Steve’s diplomacy, because he just wriggles again and whines louder. Shaking his head, Steve shoves the cart forward again, leaning his weight into it to get it moving as he heads towards the front of the store. Once they’re there, he scans for the least occupied check-out line—not that Steve’s still worried about looking conspicuous, even if he… kind of _is_ —and pushes the cart there. All the while, Bucky keeps whining and shaking the bars in front of him, and Steve has to pretend like he doesn’t notice it just so he can load everything onto the conveyor belt and get out as soon as possible. The cashier gives him an odd look, and Steve shrugs weakly, wondering whether or not he should mumble something along the lines of, “You know how kids are.” But Steve _barely_ knows how kids are, and the fact that he’s just now purchasing all the necessary supplies for taking care of one, well…

It’s like he said earlier! It just looks weird. But, apparently, his luck hasn’t been rotten enough. Just as the cashier is leisurely scanning everything, Bucky finally breaks down and starts to cry. He’s never very loud, and it comes out sounding more like hiccuping than sobbing, but as soon as it happens, Steve’s chest twinges with pain, and his shirt starts getting damp.

“Shit!” He hisses, clamping an arm over his chest as he spins around, back to the cashier. Swallowing nervously, he slowly peels his arm away, then winces. Oh God. Yep. It’s… _wet_. In two small, very obvious spots. Steve can feel his face turning bright pink and his mind seems to stop working altogether. It’s like he’s so embarrassed, he can barely think!

“Sir?” Steve glances back, watching the cashier lean over the counter to give him a look that’s both irritated and bored. Steve just stares blankly over his shoulder, watching her jerk her head towards the credit card machine a couple times before it finally hits him.

“O-Oh! Right. Sorry, uh…” He reaches back, trying not to turn too much of his body as he carefully pries his coat out from around Bucky. A couple other people are waiting behind him now, and Steve swears he can feel the sweat pouring off him as he tries to keep his chest out of view for _all_ of them. “J-Just a sec.” Finally, _finally_ , he shrugs his coat on, zipping it up and reaching into the pocket, pulling out some money and handing it to the cashier with shaking fingers.

The rest kind of happens in a blur. Steve pays for the stuff, loads it all back in the cart, and gets out of there as soon as he can, all with Bucky wailing in the background. Before he really knows how it happened, he’s back in his car, Bucky squirming in his lap, and the still-full cart sitting outside. He reclines his seat as far back as it’ll go, then grimaces as he lifts up his shirt. Bucky clambers up to his chest instantly, latching on and draping himself over Steve’s belly like he suddenly doesn’t have a care in the world. Steve screws his face up like he’s in pain, even though he isn’t. He almost wishes he _were_ , if only so he had some excuse to stop doing this. But obviously, that’s not the case right now. This keeps happening, even though feeding Buck humiliates him beyond belief. It’s all because Steve Rogers is one hell of a pushover.

The second Bucky lets go, Steve lifts him up, holding him under the arms and grimacing when he sees the little white dribbles leaking out of his mouth.

“Listen,” he grumbles. “This is the last time this is gonna happen, so I hope you enjoyed yourself.” That probably goes without saying. Bucky’s beaming like the cat who… _ugh_. Got the cream. But seriously! Steve means it this time! He bought that formula, and the bottles, so he’s got no excuse.

At least, that’s going to be his mantra for the next few days.

 

* * *

  

“So…” Sam cocks an eyebrow, standing in the doorway with one ear back. Steve hates when Sam gives him that look! He always feels like he should be guilty about something. “Why am I here again?”

Steve swallows, clenching his hands into nervous fists. “I, uh…”

“Because, last thing I heard, you were so busy trying not to give away the whole story, you forgot to tell me pretty much anything.” Sam pushes past him, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. He’s being kind of pushy, but after Steve danced around the issue on the phone for a half our, he can’t blame Sam for getting impatient. Almost instinctively, Steve looks down at himself, making sure his hoodie’s as baggy as he remembers it being, and that no part of it has gotten _damp_.

“Sam, I want to tell you—I _do!_ —it’s just…” He winces, curling into himself. “It’s…” Trailing off, he tries to find a better word, but ends up settling on: “ _Weird._ It’s… really weird! And kind of gross? And I don’t want to scare you away, or scar you for life.”

Sam frowns, freezing for a second before he turns to give Steve a look like he’s worried about his sanity. Which is okay—Steve’s fearing for his sanity, too! “Look, Cap. You got used to twenty-first-century life fast. It’s impressive! But I there’s a lot of stuff you haven’t seen. You’re not fully adjusted to the current… ‘weirdness level’ the way the rest of us are. You know, cuz we weren’t the ones living in an iceberg for seventy years. Trust me, you’re _not_ gonna freak me out.” He reaches out and grabs Steve’s arm lightly. For some crazy, very-poorly-timed reason, Steve feels himself get almost excited. He forces himself to ignore that.

“I mean, you _say that_ …” Steve sighs. Maybe he can just… phrase it gently! He’s totally out of ideas here—the one thing that was supposed to make this stop turned out to be the hardest thing for Steve to do. He’s tried using formula, and a bottle. When that didn’t work, he tried using his own… _product_ inside the bottle, mixed with formula. And, yeah, basically milking himself is something Steve would like to never do again if he can help it. And when _that_ didn’t work, he only added a tiny bit of formula, thinking he could wean Bucky onto it slowly. None of it worked. Bucky just flat out wouldn’t drink the other stuff, and he’d always end up crying and look so damn pathetic that Steve inevitably caved and gave him exactly what he wanted. But he knows he’s just avoiding the subject now. “You… remember Bucky, right?”

“Bucky?” Sam cocks an eyebrow, then glances over as Steve points to the couch. Bucky’s curled up, fast asleep, tiny hands kneading at his pillow. Sam leans back with a smirk. “Nice pajamas.”

Steve’s ears go back defensively. “What? They’re…” Practical? Comfortable? Ah, hell. He’s about to be more honest than he’s ever been in his entire life—might as well cut to the chase. “They’re cute.” Sighing, he combs his fingers nervously through his hair. This is probably gonna be like pulling out a splinter: he’ll feel the best if he does it fast and tries not to think about it. “When I found him, the serum… kind of… did some strange things. T-To my body. That’s why I was at the doctor’s on Saturday.”

“Yeah?” Okay, Steve takes it back. _This_ is Sam’s ‘I’m worried about your sanity’ look. “Things like what?”

Steve opens his mouth, but nothing really comes out. He wants to say something, he wants to tell _literally anybody_ except for the doctor he talked to a week ago about what he's been going through. But it's beyond strange, and he knows that. No matter how used to crazy stuff Sam says he is, Steve guesses he doesn't want to... Well, disturb him to the point where he never wants to see Steve again! "I... " He groans and shakes his head. "M-Maybe I should just show you."

"Uh..." Sam nods, looking more worried than ever. "Sure, Steve."

"Okay." Steve takes a huge breath and screws his eyes shut. "Just... _promise me_ you won't laugh."

Steve can't stand to look at the guy, but he swears he can hear him smirking through his tone when he says, "I'll do my best."

"Great." Steve grips the bottom of his hoodie, sliding it up gingerly, bit by bit, like he's slowly pulling bandages off a grisly wound. "Guess that's the best I'm gonna get, huh?" Is he really going to do this? He's actually going to scar Sam for life, just because he's too much of a wimp to say no to a hungry kitten, and too impatient to wait for this to all go back to normal? ... Apparently he is, because, after freezing for a few seconds as he holds his hoodie right under the 'problem area', he tugs the whole thing up over his head.

For a bit, Steve basically hides behind the fabric, keeping the hoodie over his head a solid ten seconds before dropping it on the ground with a grimace.

"Steve?" Sam finally says.

"Y-Yeah?"

"You have boobs."

Steve winces. "Yeah."

"All right then." Sam exhales and Steve finally looks up, watching the guy rub the back of his neck uncomfortably. "At least I'm not seeing things." There's a painful pause before Sam breaks the silence. "And this is all because of that kid?"

"That, and the, uh, serum. Yeah." Steve crosses his arms over his chest, face going pink. Should he grab his hoodie and cover up again? Spare Sam the sight of a grown man with a ridiculous looking pair of breasts? Or would that somehow make things more awkward?

“Okay." Sam shrugs. "You got me. That's... definitely weird." Steve's face falls, and Sam quickly adds, "B-But it's not horrible or anything! I mean, sure. Weird. Not gonna deny that part. But you and me? We've _both_ seen weirder. I think it's great you're doing something for the kid, and I..." Sam clears his throat, glancing away for a second like he's fighting with whether he should say whatever he's thinking out loud. "I mean. I think it's kinda cute."

Steve gawks at first, then furrows his brow moodily. “Look, I don’t know if you’re trying to make things less awkward, but you don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

Sam bristles defensively. “I’m not being a jerk! I’m being serious. You’re…” He swallows, looking like he’s stumbled under a spotlight. “You’re cute.”

Blinking in surprise, Steve mumbles, “You’re being serious?”

"’Course I am," Sam grumbles. "So sue me. Not the biggest news flash in the world that Steve Rogers is attractive. Or, I guess… attractive enough to pull off having a bust."

"Hey, now! Wait a minute." Steve grins even wider, then chuckles and he shakes his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were complimenting me."

"Maybe I am." Sam laughs, and suddenly, all that awkwardness just vanishes. Steve feels a little taken aback—maybe it was all an act. Still; this all feels so sudden. He never thought about whether Sam liked guys, maybe because Steve wasn’t sure Sam liked anybody in _that_ way, but it’s surprising nonetheless. Even if he’d known which way Sam swings, Steve wouldn’t think Sam liked _him_. They were always just good friends. Maybe a little too good from Steve’s perspective, which is something he’s just now realizing. But when it does hit him, a lot of his feelings about Sam seem to make a hell of a lot more sense. Sam reaches out and lightly places a hand on Steve's waist, snapping him out of it. He isn’t pulling Steve in, but he’s not moving away, either. "What do you have to say about that?"

"I say..." Steve clears his throat and hunches over a tiny bit. "R-Really? Are you seriously flirting with me? Even with my, uh... _problem?_ "

At that, Sam does pull him closer. "I'll admit it. It... _definitely_ doesn't hurt things. Even though that's... " He shrugs, suddenly nervous again. "Okay, yeah. That's weird, too."

"Weird's good!" Steve blurts, then glances anxiously back at Bucky to make sure that didn't wake him up. "I mean," he says, lowering his voice, "this whole week has been... _crazy_. Absolutely insane. And I think I might die of embarrassment when I say this out loud, but I... " He swallows. "I've really kinda... _liked it?"_ Having Bucky here, taking care of him, even _feeding_ him, has made Steve feel things more strongly than he ever thought he could. He grabs Sam's wrist loosely, giving his arm a shy tug. "But if you're implying what I think you're implying, it's... _not_ going to happen in front of Bucky."

Sam snorts. "Roger that."

Steve's not even sure how it happens. Before he knows it, he's lying with his back on the mattress and Sam's standing by the closed door, peeling his shirt up. It hits Steve like a ton of bricks—Sam was calling him cute just a few minutes ago, but… Damn it, _Sam's_ the one who's cute. More than that, Sam's kind of amazing. Steve's almost angry with himself for never considering the possibility of... _this!_ Of him and Sam, as a thing. Together.

At least they’re making up for lost time, because Sam's already climbing all over him, kissing him hungrily. He's so warm, all over, and Steve feels like his face is getting red again just from being near him. He doesn't fight it at all when Sam slides a few fingers under the hem of his tee shirt, then a whole hand, slowly ghosting up his side before cupping the underside of his swollen chest.

" _Ah—!"_

"Shit!" Sam pulls his hand back. "Sorry! That's..." He swallows, meeting eyes with Steve. "That's... probably pretty tender."

Steve nods dumbly. "Ssss... 'S okay. I'm getting used to it." Grabbing Sam's wrist, Steve slowly pulls the other man’s hand up again, guiding it back to his chest. He lets Sam take charge as he starts slowly massaging the underside of his...

Well, crap. It's... kind of a breast. Not that Steve's been wanting to use that term, but it's hard to deny it fits when Sam can grab a whole handful of flesh there. Shivering a little, he lets Sam slowly roll and press his palm against his chest, letting out a soft, disappointed noise when the other man pulls his hand away. Sam grabs the hem of his shirt again, and Steve eagerly helps him, wriggling out of it clumsily. After it’s off, Sam starts to more or less stare at him—but he doesn't look disgusted, or morbidly fascinated. It seems like like he's curious, and, _honestly_ , pretty turned on.

Which is fine, because Steve's right there with him. Sam kisses him again and Steve lifts his head despite the twinge it puts in his neck, leaning into the gesture excitedly. Sam uses both hands this time, squeezing and pawing at him until Steve feels his chest start to get slick. When that happens, Sam lets go, clamping onto a nipple without warning. Steve's breath hitches, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he can't stop himself from thinking it feels _real_ different from when Bucky's eating. Thank God for that, actually. He shivers again, swallowing clumsily and feeling the muscles in his legs twitch when Sam pushes a hand down his pants. The other man grips at him teasingly for a few seconds, thumb running up and down his length. Then he moves lower, testing at Steve's entrance with the pad of his fingers.

Steve flat out whines, tail twitching like it wants to start wagging stupidly. Or maybe that's already happening, Steve can't exactly tell. Sam keeps it up— _all_ of it—sucking on Steve's chest, grinding their bodies together, and finally slipping a finger carefully in. Steve just about cries, barely managing to muffle himself with his own hand to keep from waking Bucky. Giving a slow, careful roll of his hips, he grabs at Sam's shoulder, clenching his shirt fabric in his hand as Sam adds another finger. Sam keeps working at him, bit by bit, and Steve really does tear up when he suddenly pulls away. For a second, he doesn't know why the other man's torturing him, but then Sam starts to shimmy out of his jeans. Steve makes an eager noise in the back of his throat, ears going back a little. He shakily tugs his own sweatpants down, going totally limp as Sam lifts his legs up and slowly pushes in.

As hard as it was to keep quiet before, it's _torture_ now. Steve can’t hold back a moan, especially when Sam ducks his head down to the other side of his chest and latches on again. But Steve's not upset, and he's not in pain—he's just completely overwhelmed. Not that he wants _any_ of this to stop. When Sam starts rolling his hips, lifting Steve's rear and legs partway off the mattress, it's like he could black out from sheer pleasure alone. All he can do is hold Sam's head where it is, arcing his back and trying to match Sam's pace as he jerks his hips forward. Feels like he's climbing a mountain, in a way. All he wants is to get to the top, but the journey's so amazing, Steve also wishes it would last forever. He holds on to the sensation of something hot pulsing through him in waves, clutching at Sam’s back and pulling him closer as he keeps bucking his hips, grinding against Steve. But, eventually, he does get to that peak, and he's grabbing at Sam like his life depends on it, curling against him and shaking from head to toe as he finishes. Sam is right there with him, hunched over the mattress, sweaty and spent by the time Steve comes down from his haze.

Sam collapses next to him and Steve stares at the ceiling, not wanting to think until both of them stop panting and can actually talk.

"So, uh..." he ventures. "Does this mean you're gonna help me with the pipsqueak?" He swallows, flopping onto his side so he can face Sam. It's real hard to stop himself from smiling. "Because I'm pretty sure you owe me."

"You kidding?" Sam beams right back at him. "If anything, you owe me. I've got blackmail, Cap. Maybe I'll tell the next trashy tabloid reporter I meet about Captain America's sweater puppies."

"Maybe," Steve replies, tail thumping sleepily against the mattress, "except you're not that kind of guy."

Sam sighs in defeat. "Maybe I'm not. But a kid's a whole lot of responsibility." He thinks for a moment, but this time, the silence isn't nearly as painful. In fact, it's downright pleasant. "Tell you what: I'll do my best. And if I suck at the step-dad part..." He pauses again, ghosting a hand down the side of Steve's waist before punctuating his next line with a  squeeze. "You can always come to me for stress relief."

 


End file.
